


Scrawny

by provocation



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking Games, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2020, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provocation/pseuds/provocation
Summary: Ashley and Jessica are the only people sober at the party, so of course they get paired up for Seven Minutes in Heaven.
Relationships: Ashley Brown/Jessica Riley
Kudos: 23





	Scrawny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boom_butterfly_effect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_butterfly_effect/gifts).



> This is a gift fill for [boom_butterfly_effect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_butterfly_effect/works), who requested Jess/Ash! I had a ton of fun writing this; it's not a ship I've ever considered before but I really liked it so maybe I'll write more in the future. Title is from the Wallows song. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

It could be worse. It could have been Emily. Weirdly enough, that’s what they’re both thinking.

The theme and occasion for this particular party have escaped from everyone’s memory, and now everyone is drinking for the sake of getting drunk. It may have been someone’s friend’s birthday, or maybe there was just a sale on someone’s favourite liquor. Drinking for the sake of getting drunk is all well and good, except neither of them are actually drunk at all.

Ashley has yet to divulge that information. She doesn’t have to. For one, she doesn’t smell like alcohol; she smells like this body mist that Jess had, like, in grade eight. Surely it isn’t the same strawberry-plastic scent. Surely Ashley, a grown teenager, knows better than to wear the same fragrance that girls would use as locker room warfare, choking out their opponents and allies indiscriminately. Especially not to a party where people actually want to hook up with each other.

The second piece of evidence proving Ashley’s sobriety is that Ashley has never had a drink. Not once. Well, that’s definitely not true, she probably drinks coolers at home or whatever. But their friend group has a steadfast rule about the designated driver— the kind of rule held in place by years of stringent observance, policed by severe keeners like Samantha and clever alcoholics like Joshua. The rule is that the job of designated driver always falls to the youngest person in the friend group. The problem is that that honour happens to fall to Ashley, and since their friend group hasn’t inducted any new members in three years, Ashley has infinite job security.

“You should count yourself lucky,” Jess says, which is the wrong thing to say. Here she was just thinking about job security and she went and said a thing like that, and now Ashley probably has the complete wrong idea about Jessica’s intentions. Well, sure, they’re locked in a narrow closet together, but that wasn’t because of _her_ intentions.

Nobody ever takes the job of DJ for their parties, which means the music can vary between pop and unsuitable genres, which, in Jessica’s party experience, are literally anything other than pop. Right now someone is playing some weird slow indie rock song— Beth is a likely culprit for that one, but it could be any of them. Ashley is an obvious suspect too, except, of course, she’s locked away from the song in here with Jess.

Seven minutes in Heaven is a game invented by people who are superstitious, paranoid, bad kissers too chickenshit to play spin the bottle like grown adults. Jess doesn’t mind it; she’s a little chickenshit herself, though she does a wonderful job of hiding it. She hadn’t been the one to suggest it tonight though. That was all Mike. Or Josh, maybe. Or Matt. Definitely a guy. Or actually, it could have been Hannah.

“Lucky?” Jess glances down at her scrawny partner, who has paused trying to break out of the closet so that she can turn around and stare at Jess, agape. “What?”

“What?” Jess’ forehead wrinkles, until she remembers what she said only a moment ago. “Oh, yeah. I mean, you should count yourself lucky that they don’t try to make you drink. Those people are pushers.”

“Okay,” Ashley seethes. She returns to her task. “If you don’t want them to try to get you to drink, then just tell them no.”

“Oh, I do, but they’re just _really_ good hosts. Hosts, or enablers.” Jess yawns, trying to lean back against the wall— problem is, it’s a really small closet, so she just ends up impaling herself on a shelf of crisply folded towels. “Ow. Anyway, do you want a flashlight?”

The girl nods, and Jess fumbles for her phone. The bright beam shocks them both, especially when it throws Ashley’s face into harsh relief. She chooses not to comment, holding her phone up high so that Ashley can see the lock and doorknob better. “Better?”

“Better,” huffs Ashley. Jess swears that she’s usually chattier than this… She must be really embarrassed for some reason. There’s a very good chance that her embarrassment is related to all their friends, currently sitting right outside this linens closet and counting down. Their timer must be sitting at a cool negative two hours and fifty-three minutes by now; or at least, that’s how long it feels. It would be easier if Ashley was talking to her. As if she hears Jessica’s internal monologue, she glances over, blinking at the light and glaring. “Are you taking a video of this?”

“No,” Jess scoffs with the utmost offense, and then checks to ensure that she isn’t. “No! Why would I be filming this, we’re not even doing anything!”

“God,” Ashley screws her eyes up tightly, and then bangs her forehead into the door. The _clunk_ causes a chorus of cheers from the rest of the party, and Jess briefly imagines herself killing all of their friends Carrie-style. Jennifer-style. She thinks she’s cute enough to be the next Blumhouse lead. Hey, to hell with Blumhouse; if she promises Josh safety, he’ll probably finance the whole thing. Ashley stammers, “I’m not gonna… I’m not gonna do anything with you, Jessica. For one, you’re drunk.”

Jess, surprised, recites the rallying cry of drunk girls everywhere: “No I’m not!” Then she pockets her phone, shutting the light off and enshrouding them in darkness once more. She can still make out Ash’s silhouette in the dim light shining in around the door, but that’s about it. “Wait. No, I’m actually not.”

“What? Why would you not… wait, what? Why would you not be drunk?” Ashley lifts her head from the door, and it is fortunately unbruised or battered. She does look very confused though; perhaps she concussed herself. “If I could be drunk, I’d be drunk right now! Who plays party games like this sober?!”

The dark makes it easier to speak her thoughts aloud, but Jess closes her eyes anyway against the weight of her confession. “I don’t really like drinking that much.” So much for Jennifer (Carrie is still on the table). She sounds _lame_ , and unsexy— she sounds really, really not cool. Who doesn’t like drinking? Even Ashley, DD of three years and counting, apparently craves it. “I don’t like the hangovers and it kind of makes me feel sick.” The loss of control, not the hangovers, but Ashley super doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh.” Ashley hums. Jess opens her eyes to see that the other girl is successfully leaning against the wall, somehow avoiding impaling herself on the shelf. “But… don’t you get nervous about stuff like this? If you’re not sober, I mean?”

“I’m gonna share something with you,” Jess decides, stepping forward. Just one step is too close. This is the smallest closet in the fucking world. She can feel the warmth of Ashley’s breath, and that body mist is overpowering. “I get nervous about everything. Not just party games with kissing, but… regular old kissing, too. I mean, I’m good at it, don’t get me wrong, but I still get insecure sometimes. It’s scary stuff.”

“I do too,” the girl blurts out. “Get insecure, I mean. I haven’t, um, done it that much.”

“We can practice,” Jess says, without hesitation. Ashley’s eyes widen and her shoulders rise in one long inhale she never releases. “Don’t worry, I bite.”

“Oh geez,” Ashley mutters, which is usually followed by _‘I don’t know how to tell you this but we’re both girls’_ or some equally dumb excuse. “Oh geez. I guess that’s the point of this whole game, right?”

“Right.” Jessica moves forward again— there isn’t enough room to take a full step, so she just leans into Ashley’s space. As she does, she changes her mind. Ashley smells nice. “Might as well get your practice in.”

“Okay.” Ashley unfolds her arms, shaking them out at her side. Her sweater hangs off her shoulders, unzipped halfway down already. “I’m not drunk.”

“I know, Ash,” Jess tells her, not unkindly. She bends, lips only a centimetre or two from Ash’s mouth. In imperial measurements, they’re already kissing. Her carbon dioxide is Ashley’s oxygen, so at this point, there’s no point in asking. Problem is, Jess loves asking. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” says Ash, and outside the closet, Mike yells, “ _That’s seven!”_

Before Jess can even properly despair Ashley reaches to lock the door. From the inside, this time.

Someone bangs on the door. Emily calls, “Come on out, lovebirds!”

Jessica breaks into uncontrollable giggles— uncontrollable, that is, until Ashley reaches up and steeples her hands around the back of Jessica’s neck. Her mouth is warm and soft and tastes like chapstick. Despite her confidence in making the first move, Jess wonders if she’s ever been kissed before. Her lips are so perfect that surely no one has ever had the privilege of biting them.

Then those lips part and Jess is sure that Ash has kissed a thousand people before, because how else would she know how to kiss like this? Then, the hand on her neck drags her down, and Jess stops thinking about Ashley kissing anyone other than her.

The doorknob jiggles back and forth frantically. Jessica’s hands weave into Ashley’s hair, pushing her hat off and away into the dark closet. Ashley’s hands explore too, sliding down to Jess’ shoulders, then her arms— but still clinging, always holding tight. The darkness envelops them. Outside, someone makes a lewd joke.

Jess hardly hears it, too busy being held and holding. Ashley keeps parting her lips in this way that suggests that she might very much enjoy something between them, and when Jess slides her tongue in, the girl lets out a groan like nothing she’s ever heard before. She reevaluates her position on seven minutes in Heaven; a game invented by the wisest, sexiest people imaginable. She can’t believe she’s gone her whole friendship with Ash without experiencing this.

“Oh god, we’re gonna have to call a locksmith,” frets Sam. This threat is enough to tear them apart; they pull back for air at the same time, leaning their hands and faces and bodies against each other and breathing hard. Jess laughs again, and this time Ashley giggles too. They mutually agree it’s time to face the music.

It could have gone worse.


End file.
